Who Knew Death Would Be This Lively
by TheOrganicScientist
Summary: AU. Brittany's story didn't end when she died. Death was just the beginning. TW: Blood/Gore. Side Character Death.


**Important Note:** This story has blood, guts, gore, and side character death. If that makes you feel like you're going to lose your lunch, I advise you to possibly take this story in small increments. Chicken goes well with a lot of things, but I promise, a computer keyboard is not one of them.

Also: This story is _loosely_ based on _Warm Bodies_ , so the zombies are slightly more human than you're probably used to.

* * *

Make no mistake, I'm dead. Like really genuinely dead. If someone put their ear to my chest, aside from getting a great feel of my boobs, there would be… _nothing._ No heart beat; a completely flat line.

There was just one small thing that no one prepared me for about this whole death thing: I had no idea it would be quite this _lively_.

The last time I managed to get a glimpse of my own reflection, it was a pretty surreal experience. I looked… well, _dead_. My blonde hair was crumpled and matted, knots the size of golf balls were scattered pretty much throughout. My skin was so pale that it was practically see-through, blue green veins that had long since stopped being of use were easily seen at every joint. I think my eyes used to be blue, but now they're just an eerie flat gray.

The most alarming thing about my reflection though, was all of the blood. The good news, or perhaps bad news depending on how you look at it, is that it wasn't my blood.

One _tiny_ little thing to note: I'm a zombie. I know, it sounds crazy, but apparently all of those movies were on to something because it _happened_ , and now the only thing I'd like to order for dinner is a fine cut of calf muscle with an extra helping of brains. Hold the vegetables, please.

I wish I could say that I was a good zombie and that I somehow managed to pull a _Twilight_ and eat only animals, but no. It didn't work like that. Whenever I found a living human there just wasn't a choice. The hunger was too overwhelming, so… I filled it. The screams were pretty annoying though. Didn't they know I was just trying to eat? The munchies didn't even begin to cover it.

I wasn't the only one either; there were thousands of us milling around, bumping into each other and groaning out soft _grrrnn_ 's in the form of an apology. At least I think it was an apology… it was either that or indigestion maybe.

A lot of us found ourselves 'living' in what used to be a high school, but now is just zombie central. I even managed to find a section just for myself near the back of the school. I think it used to be a private locker room for some sports team, but either way, the cold red lockers were oddly comforting.

The thing is, I don't even really know who _I_ am. I'm not one of the lucky ones that died with a nametag or some form of uniform that could help me solve the puzzle. Don't get me wrong, as far as zombies go, I'm pretty freaking lucky. I don't have any of the gross gaping wounds or missing limbs. Sure, I've got a few errant gunshot holes here and there, but mostly it's just the singular crescent shaped bite wound on my right shoulder. It's the injury that mocks me, because I know it came from _before_.

A lot of the other zombies around me seem to have been turned right around the start. Many of them are still wearing what looks to be business clothing, or something impractical like a cocktail dress and (long since broken) high heels. Some of them, though, seem to have known what was coming and tried to dress accordingly.

I'm somewhat proud to admit that I'm in the second group. I'm pretty sure I was a badass, because damn I've got a lot of empty holsters. Overtop of my dirty sweat stained white (OK now mostly red) tank top, I have a knife shoulder harness that crosses behind my back. There's a utility belt with an empty gun holster slipped through the loops of my tan cargo pants. I've never really felt the urge to look, but I'm pretty sure there is another harness on my left calf. The cargo pants are tucked into black untied combat boots. Damn, I _really_ want to tie those assholes; my movement is already limited enough as it is. If I ever manage to dredge up the concentration to finally try though, my hands just sit there unmoving as I stare, attempting to remember exactly _how_ I'm supposed to tie them.

I don't have friends exactly; they're more like convenient associates. A group of other zombies that I generally find myself shuffling around outside with when we're feeling particularly hungry.

Two of them are obviously first wavers: a guy wearing the tattered remains of a suit and tie, and a teenage girl wearing what I've decided is a coffee shop apron overtop casual clothing. She has a nametag, and I've spent countless hours staring at it trying to remember what exactly the weird lines and curves meant. Don't judge, there's a lot of down time when the world has ended.

The last member of the group is another one of the prepared people, like me. She's wearing a blood stained military uniform; red turned black clashing against the green hues. Her left arm is completely gone; bone and sinewy tendon hang limp and open to the elements.

Apparently we're all hungry, because we've been shuffling around town for what seems like days, waiting until one of us manages to smell… _that._ My head snaps up, and I twist on the spot and start walking forward as I take in a large breath, saliva flooding my mouth as my earlier sense is confirmed. _Fresh meat._ Army girl next to me notices my reaction and takes in a sniff for herself, letting out a long groan as she starts stumbling in the scent's direction as well. Mr. Suit and Nametag follow along from behind; they haven't smelled anything yet, but they've learned to just do what Army and I do.

The two of us break out into a half shuffle half run as soon as we enter an abandoned neighborhood and the scent gets particularly strong. Army gets ahead of me and rushes into the open door of a nearby house, growling as she goes. So theatrical that one.

" _Shit!_ Incoming, pack up and get ready to go, NOW!" someone yells from inside the house, their voice cracking in poorly disguised fear.

The moment I enter the house, a loud _bang_ goes off, and my body instinctively crouches and moves behind a couch. I'm telling you, I had to have been a total boss for that kind of stuff to still be ingrained even in death.

I move around the couch, zeroing in on a tall man with his back to me, standing over Army's unmoving corpse. He's breathing hard and kicks at Army's boot, checking to make sure that she's staying down.

Idiot.

I lunge forward and push him to the ground, smirking internally at the sound of his gun skidding across the floor. My left hand digs into his face, forcing his jaw shut as I push his head up and dig my teeth into his jugular. Soft muscle tissue gives way to my unrelenting not-so-pearly-whites as my jaw snaps shut and I pull away with a large section of his neck, chewing on it absently. His bright blue eyes look up at me, wide with fear and… well something else that I'm not sure I've seen before and don't really know how to place. The blood from his throat gurgles with his attempts at breathing and it draws my attention, immediately diving back in for a second bite. The hunger is all I know right now. It ravages my insides and drives me crazy. When his fresh blood and open buffet of meat is sitting right in front of me, all I can think about is _eat, eat, eat._

If I leave his brains alone eventually he'll turn and join me in the realm of the undead, but I've never been very good at that. My fist slams against his skull over and over again, the sick crunch of bone echoes through the room. Finally, my fist is enveloped by a spongy mass and I grab a handful and shove it into my mouth, moaning aloud in delight at the taste. I'm not really sure how to describe it, but I would assume that brains are kind of like the drug to end all drugs for zombies. The instant I taste it, it's like every neuron in my brain fires and for just a moment I feel _alive_.

I sit back, a fist full of brains in my hand as I watch Mr. Suit and Nametag stumble into the doorway. They start approaching my kill to get a taste of their own before there is a loud crash upstairs. Mr. Suit and Nametag jump at the sound and start trying to make their way up the stairs. After all, living flesh is always better than an already dead kill. I shove the brains into my mouth, and for a moment I think I can almost read Nametag's nametag. _Mel-_ something I think; either way, it's a start.

"Sam!" A voice hollers from upstairs, "Sam, are you ok?"

"He's dead, Tina, save it. Watch the stairs while I finish getting everything," a huskier voice growls with a tone that leaves no room for questioning.

My jaw pauses mid chew, and I twist around to stare up at the ceiling where the voice came from. _That voice_. My unbeating heart almost feels like it clinches at the sound. Why the hell does that voice make me feel so _warm_?

I grab a handful of brains-to-go (maybe they should start serving that at McDonalds now) as I stand to my feet and make my way up the stairs, _needing_ to know where the voice is coming from.

Two loud gunshots go off above me at the top of the stairs before I hear, "Tina! God dammit!" from my mystery voice again, followed by a third gunshot.

I approach the tops of the steps slowly, lifting the brains to my mouth again as I round the corner. Mr. Suit's corpse lies at the top of the steps, bent awkwardly with his head on a step lower than his body. Nametag lies farther ahead inside the room, her body sprawled out next to a woman bleeding from her neck, much like the wound I gave the careless man downstairs.

Nametag finally managed to get one on her own, good for her. If zombies could feel pride, I think I would be feeling it now.

I start to move towards the dying woman, never one to pass up a free meal, when movement to my right catches my eye. I twist around, growling, as I come face to face with the owner of my mystery voice. The growl catches in my throat, and something I've never felt before, yet feels very familiar, stirs inside of my lifeless body.

A woman is standing there, wearing almost identical clothing to me: holsters and all. Her brown skin glistens with sweat, her chest heaves up and down. She has long dark brown hair that is put up in a ponytail underneath a black baseball cap. Her right hand holds a shiny silver pistol that drops slightly, and then begins to shake. Her dark brown eyes draw my interest, though. I've never cared about anyone's eyes before, but hers captivate me: they're wide with the same emotion I saw on the boy downstairs, and with all the brains in my mouth I can finally place it. Recognition. The initial shock of recognition fades and immense sadness and horror takes over as the predominant emotion.

"B-Brittany…?"She whispers, her voice wavering. God, that voice. It's like smoke and honey and it _does_ something to me. Who the hell is this woman?

My instincts kick in, screaming at me to _Eat._ My body moves to take a step forward, but I force it to go towards the dying woman instead.

The pistol is lifted threateningly but it's still shaking, now worse than before, "Don't touch her, Britt. You don't want to hurt Tina, you love Tina."

I slowly look down at the woman below me, her near black eyes are looking up at me in fear as she's slowly trying to move away. It's obvious that she's dying. Nametag got a great bite in. Her blood is calling to me, begging for me to give in… so, I do. I put up absolutely zero resistance as I lean in quickly and tear out the rest of her throat.

"Oh god," the mystery woman chokes out, sounding like she's about to throw up. Her brown eyes are staring into mine as I slowly chew. She doesn't fire her gun though, so at least there's that. "Brittany, why haven't you attacked me yet? You shouldn't just be sitting here looking at me. Zoms aren't people, dammit. You _can't_ know who I am," she's rambling now, an almost deranged look in her eyes.

What the hell is a Brittany? Either way, it's a good question. In the end, its almost like there's zero urge in my body to feed from her. On the contrary, I feel curious about her. I lift the dead woman's arm to my lips and grab another bite as I stare at the dark haired woman in curiosity.

"Brittany, do you… _do_ you know its me? It's Santana," Santana's voice is incredibly soft, its cracking with emotion, "Baby, please don't make me shoot you. I don't think I'll be able to shoot you."

Her words don't really mean anything to me so I turn my attention back to my current meal, and turn her head so that I can smash in her temple. Seriously, those brains are just too good to pass up. The sickening crunching noise fills the room again, and Santana throws a hand over her mouth before she runs over to a nearby sink, losing her lunch. Her back muscles flex as she heaves and heaves.

Once I have both a mouth and a fistful of brains I stand, chewing loudly. Santana turns again, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

I breathe out, the noise sounding low and grumbly. There's a connection to be made, but even with all the brains in my mouth I just cant figure it out. "S…Sssss" I play with the 's' noise, my favorite sound to make when I'm not caught up in eating people. I slowly walk towards her; I just need to understand. Why does it feel like everything in my body recoils at the idea of hurting her?

Her mouth drops and she takes a step back, only to realize that she's still next to the sink's counter. "Fucking zombie," she spits out, her eyes filling with an emotion I can't quite read. I think it might be a few all jumbled into one. She raises her gun determinedly, leveling it with my eyes. Or at least it's level for a second before it starts shaking again, "God Dammit!" she screams out, whipping the gun back down to her side. She eyes me angrily, tears welling, "Why does it have to be _you_? It's not even you, really. Just a monster parading around in your skin. But it's still _your_ skin. Fuck!"

I take a step closer, and Santana weakly raises the gun towards me again, but I ignore it and keep inching my way towards her until it's pressed into my chest. I cautiously raise my hand that isn't full of brains (what can I say? Gentlewoman even in death) and touch her cheek, a long red bloodstain following its path. She clinches her eyes shut and turns her head to the side, grimacing. "Just fucking do it already. I can't shoot her, you might as well just get it over with." My fingers keep trailing over her skin, it's just so… _soft_. I don't ever want to stop touching it.

My fingers come to an immediate halt once I hear a telltale, ' _gruuughh'_ in the distance. I might not know who I am, or where I come from, but I do know one thing: _nothing_ will hurt this woman. I turn to her with wide eyes, and see her peeking one eye out at me, still waiting expectantly.

I reach down to my side, where one of the bullet holes is located, and dig my fingers in as far as they will go. When I pull them out, they're covered in clotted black blood and I move to spread it across her face. She immediately recoils with a look of disgust, "What in the actual fuck? No. Ew. Just fucking bite me like a normal zombie. Save the biological warfare shit for someone else."

The groans from outside are getting louder, so I growl at her in warning and grab her shirt to keep her from moving as I move my hand forward again, ignoring her recoil, and smear the black sludge around her face until it's coating her forehead and cheeks. I lean forward and sniff. _Damn, it's still there_. I look around for a moment before I see Nametag's body. Perfect. I shuffle forward before I lift up my foot and bring it down hard against her lifeless head. It goes through with a disgustingly satisfying _crunch_.

"Oh my God, do you have to keep doing that?"

I grab a handful of Nametag's decidedly gray brains, careful to keep them away from my body. They seriously smell awful. Nothing like their fresh pink counterparts. I walk back up to Santana and push the handful of brains onto her chest right when I hear the clumsy shuffle of feet downstairs. I hastily try and rub the gray goop across her upper body as the stairs start to creak under weight.

Once I finish, I lean forward and take another large breath. _Nothing._ Perfect. I look at her pointedly and raise my arms dramatically, groaning out a stereotypical, " _Uuunnhh_." _Play dead, mystery woman._ I hope she understands what I'm trying to get at. For some reason, I really, _really_ , don't want her to become someone's next meal.

Her brown eyes stare at me like I'm completely crazy before they shift towards the door and grow wide with fear. Her hand moves to lift her gun, but I move forward and trap it against the counter. I twist around so that my back is pushed against her front, effectively covering her, right when a figure shuffles through the door. It's a first waver; a soccer mom type, still wearing running shoes and a baby blue monogrammed zip-up jacket. She looks over at me and Santana curiously for one long moment before she finally zeroes in on the just-like-new pink brains still leaking out onto the floor. She practically falls to her knees and begins shoving them into her mouth, and I can feel Santana tense up behind me.

I cautiously inch my way around her until I'm behind her and hesitantly urge her forward. Santana looks back at me incredulously, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

I push her forward again until she gets the hint and slowly starts moving her way towards the door, her eyes darting back and forth between the undead soccer mom and the undead… well, _me,_ almost as if she can't decide which of us she should be more focused of. Her hand rests on the butt of her gun, likely about to pull it out at the slightest jump.

Even for a zombie, she's going really freaking slowly and it's trying my patience. I reach forward and grab her upper arm, pushing her in front of me as I walk down the stairs, careful not to step on Mr. Suit. My grip on her arm stays in place as I shuffle her out of the house.

"What the f-," she begins to whisper before I cut her off with a menacing growl, jerking my head to the left to point out an approaching pack of zombies to her.

I let go of her arm and look at her steadily before groaning out, " _unnngh,"_ and pointedly giving her a shove before stumbling forward a little.

Her brown eyes crinkle in confusion for a moment before realization hits her, her head whipping back and forth between me and the incoming group. She slowly raises up her hands until they're parallel to the ground and starts shuffling forward. " _GGRRGHHHH,"_ she calls out awkwardly, her face twisting into a grimace of self humiliation.

My body comes to a jerking halt and twists to face her. _Really?_ God, and I thought Army was dramatic. Someone has definitely seen one too many old horror movies. Real zombies are much more refined than that, thank you very much. We only ever put our arms out when we're trying to catch some (legitimately) fast food. First class dining, really.

At my annoyed huff, she twists towards me, evil glare in place as if to say, _I'm sure you were pretty shitty at this your first time too._

Too bad for her, I'm a natural… and this is going to be a _long_ walk. Fuck.

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 **A/N:** I want to know if this is the kind of AU that people would be interested in reading, so leave a review and let me know. Don't be a stranger, it takes hours to write and only seconds to review.

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